


Christmas in Gilead

by ZoeBartlet



Category: The Handmaid's Tale (TV), The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:47:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21953308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoeBartlet/pseuds/ZoeBartlet
Summary: A one shot holiday indulgence set four months after June arrives at the Waterfords. Dedicated to all - and I mean ALL - of the fic writers in this fandom. Every word you write is an act of generosity. What follows is fluff, awkward (I mean... it's Nick) flirtation and a lot of Christmas spirit. I love this ship, for as long as it lasts. Also, I feel like we often forget how FUNNY June is. This is my attempt to capture it. Merry, merry everyone!
Relationships: Nick Blaine/June Osborne | Offred
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	Christmas in Gilead

If nothing else June had become a keen observer of the Waterford household’s every movement and habit... because, well, there wasn’t much _else_ to do. Four months of abject boredom and virtual imprisonment does that to a girl.

Rita usually retired at ten after serving the Waterfords and sitting for dinner with June and Nick - when he elected to join. Then, of course, Rita would scrub the dishes and June would dry before being admonished to her room. June internally raged at the injustice like the twelve-year old she once was. _Just another episode of Buffy, Mom_. Hell, she’d have legit Cinderella-ed the hell out of the fireplace ashes just to save Rita the trouble. Any fucking job to keep her mind from turning over and over onto itself in her upstairs jail.

Blessedly, Serena retired promptly after dinner and never budged. Fred was inconsistent but June learned quickly it wouldn’t really matter with him. He left the rule-breaking matters to Serena. 

So, as luck would have it, midnight tea was easy to swing. It got her out of her room, out of her head and, as tea often does, it soothed her damaged soul. 

Nick knew, of course. She’d realized early on that the man missed nothing. And, like everything else in the house, he was a creature of habit. Rain, sleet, or snow, at 11:30 sharp he had a cigarette and scotch on his stoop. 

He could see her movements and she knew it, however dimmed the light in the kitchen. 

Oddly, it made her feel safe… and unsettled.

****

Their nightly dinners were maddening. No two people were more comfortable with silence than Rita and Nick, and in her most petulant moods - which were frequent - she’d try to egg them out of their impermeable shells.

_“Rita, any_ _salmonella outbreaks_ _and some poultry inspired hangings today?”_

 _“Nick, so. I heard some_ **_hot news_ ** _that BMW is lobbying hard for the next Gilead contract. Yay or nay?”_

_“Can either of you transfer me to Downton Abbey? Way more fun, that bunch.”_

Her spicy entreaties for conversation, _any_ words to hang on, were generally met with half-smiles followed by Rita shushing her. But even that kept her going. It was, after all, a kind of humanity in small, restrained doses.

Once, _only once_ she got a good reaction... 

_“So, Nick. I have a question. Do you ever miss gaming and YouPorn? Because I sure as hell do.”_

Rita’s fork had clattered to her plate and Nick sat back and exhaled with exasperation, muttering, “Jesus Christ, Offred.”

_That_ _was a crowning moment_ , she had thought, as Gilead boredom goes.

****

This particular night, however, was different but she couldn’t quite put her finger on why. She had entered the kitchen promptly at her appointed time, eight, when she heard Nick say, “I’ll do it.” 

She cleared her throat at the doorway Rita and Nick each turned away quickly - too quickly - Nick to slicing the meat, Rita setting the side dishes on the table.

Dinner looked amazing. It was always hit and miss in Gilead but Rita had somehow haggled for spiraled ham with cloves, roasted vegetables, and mashed potatoes. 

Even more strange was when Rita handed Nick a wine bottle and cork screw as they sat down to eat. As he poured the rose, a high priced throwback called _Whispering Ange_ l, June fixated on it, her brow clenched in confusion. 

Unusually, Rita replied to her consternation, “Mrs. Waterford approved it.”

_What the fuck?_ thought June.

They usually feigned some kind of grace but this time Rita, at the head of the table, held up her glass with a quick nod. “To our health. May God teach Gilead His lessons.”

“And to our safety,” Nick said quickly giving a hard look at June. “Let’s all be safe this year.”

_Well_ **_that’s_ ** _interesting._ June considered. A million sarcastic come-backs almost launched from June’s tongue but she was so astonished that instead she simply dug into the best meal she’d ever had in Gilead.

“For once, silence is golden, Offred,” Rita eventually said. 

Nick almost smiled to himself, his gaze on his plate.

June laughed.

It was a good night.

****

When midnight struck, June, clad in her white nightdress, her long hair a mess of blond waves over her shoulders, made her way downstairs immersed in her thoughts. She was uncommonly lighthearted after the meal and glimpses into Rita and Nick, however minute. 

_It’s the small things in this place_ she thought and paused on the landing noticing that it was snowing. 

_At least there’s still snow to make everything clean and beautiful._ Small things, indeed.

As usual, the kitchen was dark save only a small counter light and she padded silently toward the cupboard. 

“I’ve got it. Camomille, right?”

June almost jumped out of her skin and legitimately let out a squeal and gasp in unison. Her eyes flew to Nick in the shadows sitting at his appointed place on the right of the table, a teapot and two mugs in front of him.

“Jesus Christ, Nick!”

“Shhhhh. Sit down, Offred.” His calmness was both irksome and maybe even a forbidden turn-on but June obeyed anyway, a little transfixed at all the subtle left turns the entire evening had dealt her. 

Methodically, she strode to her place opposite him at the table. “What’s going on, Nick?” June asked, her voice hushed as the realization set in that his presence could ruin her nightly ritual if they were caught.

“Drink your tea,” Nick replied softly as he poured the steaming golden liquid into her mug before taking her in, nightdress, tangled hair, an Eve to all the nunnery efforts of her daily costume.

Baffled and self-conscious June dutifully sipped and held his eyes over the cup, entreating him silently to answer her question.

“You know what today is, right?” Nick asked.

“Another cold day in Gilead? But with ham and wine and snow and stranger a.f. housemates?”

Nick almost laughed and looked down, nodding. She charmed him and she'd known it from day one, and she kept that knowledge locked away as secret weaponry. Some things don’t change in the games of attraction, Gilead or no Gilead.

After a pause she continued quietly. “I lost track of the days a long time ago.”

Nick nodded, understanding, and held her gaze. “It’s Christmas Eve.” 

June inhaled quietly at this knowledge, fitting all the pieces together.

Nick looked at his wrist. “Actually, it’s Christmas. As of eight minutes ago.”

They both sat in silence for long seconds, minutes even, lost in the knowledge of the day and what it meant for each of them.

Finally he spoke. “The thing is, Offred, we uh—,” and he shifted in his chair, visibly uncomfortable. “—we want to help. We should have…done more...” His voice trailed off struggling to articulate what he meant. “... before with the other....”

It took a few seconds until June understood. She cleared her throat and gave him a hard look. “Ah. I got it. So this is Operation Offred Suicide Prevention?”

Nick flinched at her bluntness but sat back and regarded her, meeting her dark humor. “Well, y’know the spirit of Christmas. What would Jesus do?”

June laughed, genuinely beguiled, realizing more than ever that this was an intelligent man. Humor and intellect were almost always conjoined and black comedy had its place.

Nick’s eyes turned serious but June mocked him, sitting up straight like a good school girl. "So... what would he do? Jesus?"

“We want to…” 

Seconds ticked by.

“Just spit it out, Nick.”

“We got you something. Rita put it on the shelf in your closet. It’s not much but I have a friend… and she said that handmaids… would probably like...“ and his words faded along with his nerve.

“You might be the worst conversationalist in Gilead, Nick.”

He exhaled, trying to put it together. “A friend of mine - a martha - works at… Nevermind. She deals in contraband and she thought handmaids mostly miss lotions and stuff…” Nick shook his head, still not explaining properly and he reminded June of a fifteen year-old boy. A very sweet, determined teenage boy.

But June understood and she slowly slid her rough and reddened hands to the middle of the table and nodded. “Smart girl, your friend. What’s her name?”

Nick flinched a little as he fixated on her irritated hanging cuticles and she saw a spark of anger before he shook his head as though to clear it. “Beth. Her name. Listen, it’s not much but she said it was a good brand. Clinic or something.”

June smiled generously. _This fucking man, what an enigma._

“ _Clinque_ ,” she corrected. “It was my brand when I was younger. It’s perfect. Tell your _friend_ thanks _,_ ” June said with a slight note of sarcasm at the end. She was no idiot. 

There was an awkward silence before Nick sat up to prepare to leave.

“No! Not yet. Please.” June declared, both of them surprised at her outburst. “Just, it’s Christmas. And it’s snowing and just tell me…,” she thought long and hard for something he might actually answer. “... What’s your favorite Christmas song? And don’t say Mariah Carey anything or I’ll legit regift the _clinic_ to Ofglen in a hot holiday second.”

Nick laughed outright and June did an internal high five to herself. It was the first time she’d heard him properly laugh, the instinctual kind. She didn’t want to think about the fact that Nick’s endangered smile felt like a gift in itself. 

“ _Little Drummer Boy_.”

June taped her fingers on the table with one hand while taking a sip of tea with the other, considering this answer. Her eyes narrowed, testing him. “Which version?”

“Joan Jett. Is there any other?”

“Good answer, Nick! Impressive. Now tell me why.”

She was probing, trying to prolong this rare moment of intimacy - if you could call it that - and they both knew it. 

He decided to play it straight. “I dunno. I like the drums.“ 

June paused reveling in his honesty. But she dug deeper, couldn’t help herself. “Nothing about him being ‘ _a poor boy too_ ' or anything?"

It worked, the dig. “Offred…” Nick warned, setting down his limits on her holiday inquisition along with his mug. He deflected. “Yours? And if you say Handel’s _Messiah_ I’ll take back the gift myself.”

It was her turn to laugh, impressed that he knew his classics. “No.” She considered her answer for a second before finally deciding. ‘ _Baby, It’s Cold Outside’_ because it’s cute no matter what the PC woke police said back in the day _._ Oh, and Cohen’s ‘ _Alleluia’_ because, well, _Leonard_ …”

She quieted then, a little ashamed at her verbosity. Thankfully, after a few moments her embarrassment dissipated and she raised her head proudly, standing by her words with typical determination.

Nick’s dark eyes met hers and she knew he understood. It chilled and warmed her all at once.

As if in reaction to the connection, Nick stood. “I gotta go.” This time she nodded, a little too emphatically. 

But she wasn’t done with this magical moment in Gilead. As he came around the table she caught his arm. “Thank you, Nick.”

He looked down at her for a couple of seconds and she thought she saw a small part of his conflicted soul in that moment.

And then he stunned her. His hand reached out to a tendril of loose hair across her forehead and curled it around her ear.

“Be careful, Offred.”

“I’m trying,” she replied.

“Try harder.”

She smiled and it was brighter than any Christmas tree could ever be. 

“Okay,” she replied simply. He deserved something for all this effort and, well, acquiescence was all _she_ had to give.

Nick looked away, skeptical. He knew in his bones this woman was already under his skin and was lying her ass off.

“Merry Christmas, Offred.”

“That’s not my name, St. Nicholas. But right back atcha.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally intended to be a four chapters of June/Nick's Christmases - three in Gilead, one when they're out but I only really loved this one. (I have another year to work on the other three.)
> 
> I adore the English language (teach it, actually) and this is a rare fic for which I've not had time for a proof reader. If you see any errors please lmk. I'll be traveling with three teens on Xmas day (wish me luck) but will check back on the 26th.
> 
> Any feedback is welcome.


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